


You Only Had to Ask

by orchis



Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Gen, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-02
Updated: 2015-12-02
Packaged: 2018-05-04 07:10:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,123
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5325182
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orchis/pseuds/orchis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When his partner's life is in grave danger, Agent Gimli Longbeard travels to Aman to meet up with Legolas Greenwood, and ask for his help. A Fringe/LOTR crossover, written for Gigolas Week 2015, day 1: Crack fic and crossovers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Only Had to Ask

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this for Gigolas Week 2015, day 1: Crack/Crossover. It's a sort of crossover/fusion with the tv show Fringe. It's also pre-slash and unbeated. Many thanks to Ken and McKittericks for their help and encouragement.

Gimli had read the dossier on Legolas Greenwood over five times, but he still felt it had too little of much too needed information. He had been travelling for almost thirty hours, most of them fully awake and trying to draft a plan in his head on how to approach the subject with Greenwood, but he still wasn’t feeling confident at all that it would work. 

Gimli was good with words. He was good with suspects, good with witnesses, good with his superiors, good even with the most annoying bureaucrats. He had been on the job for a while now, and he had the experience necessary to deal with this. He knew all that, of course, but being aware of something and actually feeling it, deep within your bones, as a certainty, is another matter entirely. 

Right now, he didn’t feel confident. He felt as if all his strength, all his confidence was lying on a hospital bed, dying the most horrible death anyone could’ve possibly imagined, and there was nothing Gimli could do about it. Nothing except travelling to the other side of the world to beg Legolas Greenwood for help. 

Gimli wished he could ask someone else. It wasn’t like he still held prejudices against the citizens of Mirkwood; it had been a long time since he understood that the rivalry between Erebor and Mirkwood was frankly a bit silly, and more than a little pointless. But his uneasiness came from Legolas’ personal history. 

Legolas was a young man, only a few years older than Gimli. He never finished High School, but was clever enough to forge a certificate and be admitted into the University of Minas Ithil. He was caught, of course, three semesters into a double major in Philosophy and Physics. Since then, he had employed his talents for questionable goals, and occasionally got in trouble with the police. He had cooperated with the authorities once in the past, although it had been more a question of twisting his arm rather than him wanting to offer his help like the model citizen he really wasn’t.

Greenwood’s antecedent of helping the police was enough to give Gimli an inkling of hope. But Legolas also hadn’t spoken to his father since he was seventeen. Not even at his mother’s funeral, because Thranduil had already been committed, and hadn’t been granted permission to attend. 

Legolas hadn’t visited his father a single time in the seven years Thranduil had been in a mental hospital - whoever put together the dossier had gone as far as to check the visiting records. The chances of him accepting to help Gimli were slim, to say the least. 

But Gimli still had to try. For Fíli. And if Legolas didn’t agree, he was desperate enough to persuade him in more violent ways. At this point, he’d put a gun to Legolas’ head if it meant Fíli had even the slightest chance of surviving. 

Gimli’s driver got to the hotel just as Legolas was leaving, looking very much like a tourist out for a day of fun. He was wearing shorts and flip flops, and a vest, showing up strong, tanned arms. His golden hair was up in a bun, and his shades hid most of his features, but Gimli still recognised him from the few pictures he’d seen in the dossier. He was good with faces. 

Gimli all but jumped out of the car and ran, cursing the oppressive heat, until he caught up with Legolas, just as he was reaching the corner of the street. 

‘Excuse me!’ he said, and tapped him on the shoulder. ‘Legolas Greenwood?’

Legolas stopped and turned around, with a frown. 

‘Yes?’

‘I’m Agent Gimli Longbeard. I was wondering if I could have a small chat with you,’ he said, and flashed him his ID. 

Legolas made a gesture with his mouth that made Gimli think he was rolling his eyes behind the dark lenses of his shades. 

‘Actually, this isn’t a good time,’ Legolas said, not even bothering to ask Gimli how he knew his name, or what the questions would be about. ‘I’m really hungry and I was heading towards the beach for some food.’

Gimli swallowed the rude reply that threatened to jump off his tongue. ‘I’ll buy you lunch,’ he said, instead, and tried to keep his head cool. Fíli’s life depended on it. ‘Please,’ he added, after a second, and Legolas’s frown deepend. 

‘Alright,’ he said. ‘But I’ll pick the place.’

* * *

The place happened to be a small restaurant by the sea, called ‘The Green Dragon.’ The kitchen and a bar were inside a small building, almost like a hut, and most of the tables were actually in the sand, under a palm roof. It was nice. In other circumstances, Gimli would’ve probably appreciated it. 

The restaurant had kitschy decoration, and crude painting of a dragon above the door of the hut. It also seemed popular in spite of its humble appearance, because there was a line of a few people waiting to be seated. 

Gimli felt like cursing. He didn’t have all day. Fíli didn’t have all day. 

Lucky for him, Legolas seemed to know the waitress, who, as soon as she spotted him, made a beeline for him. 

‘Hello, Mr Legolas,’ she said. She was a short, stout young woman, with a lovely smile, and curly blond hair. 

‘Hi, Rosie,’ said Legolas. 

‘Follow me,’ she said, and gestured for them to skip the queue. She guided them to a small table the furthest away from the hut, only a few meters from where the tourists were sunbathing. 

‘We’ll have today’s special, please,’ said Legolas, as soon as they were seated in the plastic chairs. 

‘Anything to drink?’

‘The usual,’ said Legolas, with a smile, and looked at Gimli expectantly.

‘Just water for me, please,’ he said. 

‘Gotcha. I’ll be back soon,’ said Rosie, and disappeared into the masses of tables and chairs. 

‘I hope you like shrimp soup,’ said Legolas. ‘I figured I’d order for us. You seem a bit in a hurry.’

Gimli could groan. Well, he had his heart on his sleeve. It wasn’t always good when interviewing suspects, certainly not, but it might help him save Fíli’s life. 

‘I am,’ he said. He grabbed the plastic-covered menu from the table and started to fan himself.

‘What brings you to Aman?’ asked Legolas. ‘Not many Ereborians visit. They prefer colder climates.’

Gimli frowned. He was about to ask how he knew he was from Erebor, but then remembered two things - first, his accent was a dead giveaway, always; second, Legolas was from Mirkwood. He’d surely be able to pinpoint the local accents and mannerism with facility, even if he weren’t a clever bastard. 

‘I’m here to ask you a favour,’ he said. 

‘Ask away,’ said Legolas. 

At that moment, Rosie came back, carrying a bottle of Teleri Ale and a glass of water for Gimli. 

Legolas took a sip of his bottle, and made a show of sighing and wiping the sweat off his forehead. 

‘Nobody makes a beer like the Teleri,’ he said. He took off his shades, revealing a pair of clever green eyes that smiled mischievously at Gimli. ‘Not even in Erebor, if you don’t mind me saying.’

‘I don’t mind,’ said Gimli.

‘You said you had a favour to ask…’

‘It’s about your father.’

Just as Gimli expected, Legolas’ pleasant expression shut down. A line appeared once again between his eyebrows, and his mouth was twisted in a way that made Gimli wonder if Rosie hadn’t actually brought him a bottle of cat piss instead of his pretentious pseudo craft beer. 

‘I’m afraid the answer is no,’ said Legolas. 

‘You haven’t heard me yet,’ Gimli said.

‘I don’t want to hear it. You clearly know enough about me to be aware of the fact that we don’t exactly have an exemplary relationship. I don’t want to talk about him. I don’t want anything to do with him, so unless you have a different subject of conversation, I’m very sorry, but I’ll have to ask you to leave and let me eat my lunch in peace.’

Gimli sighed. 

‘We need his help.’

‘That’s unfortunate. Last time I heard, he was in no shape of helping anyone with anything.’

‘He could help us,’ said Gimli. ‘He could help my partner.’ 

He took out his phone, scrolled through the menu for a few seconds, and handed it to Legolas for him to see the most recent picture of Fíli. 

He winced and adverted his eyes, returning the phone to Gimli as if it had burned him.

‘Well, that certainly spoiled my appetite,’ he said, not looking at him in the eye. 

Once again, Gimli had to almost bite his tongue not to reply with a curse to Legolas’ frivolous tone. ‘We think someone’s using your father’s old experiments to do this,’ he said instead. 

‘Chemical weapons?’ asked Legolas.

‘And that’s only a small part of what we’ve seen.’ Gimli stopped talking. Legolas seemed a bit distracted, his green eyes lost in the turquoise sea. ‘We think he might be able to help us counteract it,’ Gimli continued.

Legolas sighed, and this time he rolled his eyes.

‘He can’t. There’s a reason why he’s in a mental home.’

‘He could. He’s our only hope at this point. Fí-my partner’s life depends on it. And not just his life. We’ve got another six victims agonising right now.’

Legolas’ frown intensified, and he turned his face away from Gimli. He rested his chin on his palm and contemplated the ocean, silent for what felt like an eternity to Gimli.

‘Well, it seems you need my father, not me. Why are you here?’ Legolas finally said, turning towards him.

Gimli frowned. Well, Legolas was a clever man, but if he was going to have to spell it out for him, he’d do it. ‘He can’t get out of the psychiatric hospital unless his next of kin allows it.’

‘Did you bring me the forms to sign?’ Legolas asked. He seemed desperate for the conversation to end, but Gimli felt a tiny flame of hope kindle in his chest. 

‘You have to do it in person,’ said Gimli. 

‘Absolutely not,’ said Legolas. ‘I don’t ever wanna see him again.’

‘It’s the only way,’ said Gimli. ‘They can only release him into your care.’

‘Well, that’s a real shame, then,’ said Legolas. But he wasn’t looking at Gimli, and the tension in his shoulders and his face betrayed that he wasn’t quite comfortable with just walking away when he was the only hope of seven people agonising, or so Gimli hoped.

Rosie came back again, carrying two bowls of shrimp soup and a basket of bread on a tray.

‘There you go,’ she said. ‘Is there anything else I can get you?’

‘We’re fine, Rosie, thanks,’ replied Legolas, and in spite of his obvious discomfort, he still found it in him to flash a tiny little small to the waitress. Gimli decided he might not be that horrible after all. Perhaps. With some luck.

‘Please,’ said Gimli. ‘Only he can help us, and only you can make it happen. It’d only be for a few days.’

‘Fourteen years,’ said Legolas. ‘Almost fifteen, actually, since I last saw him.’

‘I know,’ said Gimli. ‘Believe me, I wouldn’t be here if it there was any other choice. The least thing I wanted was to be thousands of miles away from my partner when he’s in such pain, but this is the only thing that I can do to help him.’

Legolas stared at the shrimp soup. He grabbed a slice of bread and dipped it into the broth before taking a bite.

‘Your partner - how old is he?’ Legolas asked. 

‘He’ll be thirty next month.’

Legolas, once again, avoided Gimli’s eyes as he chewed on more bread. 

‘Fine,’ he said, after a moment.

Gimli felt a little bit of the tension in his body leaving him. 

‘Thank you,’ he said. ‘Thank you so much.’

‘Don’t thank me,’ said Legolas. ‘I’d rather not think too much about this, to be honest.’

Gimli nodded. 

‘Could I at least finish my soup, or do we have to leave now?’ Legolas asked, and the insolent, bored tone that made him look more like a teenager than a grown man was back. Gimli didn’t mind it this time.

Gimli was gonna reply that yes, of course, he could finish his lunch, but his stomach made a loud noise, loud enough to be heard even above the sound of the waves. 

Legolas chuckled, and Gimli couldn’t help but smile at him, in spite of everything. 

‘Well, we have to eat anyway,’ he said, and grabbed his spoon.


End file.
